The Deadly Calls
by luvamerica98
Summary: Mike is being threatened by an anonymous caller. Harvey is trying to protect him, but how can you save someone from an unknown enemy? WARNING: GORY SCENES! TORTURE SCENES! DEATH OF SEVERAL MAJOR CHARACTERS!
1. The Threats

City lights illuminate the darkness that has fallen upon New York City. I'm in my spacious office, nursing a glass of malt scotch, staring out into the skyline. Everlasting Light by the Black Keys hums in the background. I take a slow sip of the amber liquid, thinking about the Crenshaw case. Geoffrey Crenshaw, founder of the Crenshaw investment banking company, says he wants to own 4.3% of Jefferson's Oil Company and try to "save the business." Seriously? Is this guy even an investment banker at all? Investment bankers are supposed to be sharks, not superheroes. I told Jessica that it was in our best interest to drop Crenshaw as a client, partially, because there was a conflict of interest. Another client of ours wanted Jefferson's Oil Company. She said she'd consider it. We both agreed that Crenshaw's plan was both insufficiently ruthless and utterly ridiculous, but she fears that if we drop him as a client, it'd be the Garrington case all over again. Boy, was that hectic. We still won the case, but still. I can hear the glass door creaking as it is being pushed open. I see Mike's reflection on the glass window. A blonde first-year in his twenties, notorious for cheap suits, skinny ties, and an eidetic memory. What nobody knows about him is that he never even went to law school. The only people who know are me, Donna, Jessica, and that Lola chick. Oh, and Jenny. Mike silently shuts the door behind himself. "You ready to go home?" Oh, I forgot to mention: I'm with him. We have been together for the past two years. In fact, we started sleeping together about two weeks after he and Rachel broke up. "Did you finish those Crenshaw files like I asked you to?"

"No. My dog ate them," he deadpans, waving the stack of folders in the air. I roll my eyes. Smart ass. "Put it on my desk, get your shit, lets head out." Mike nods once before tossing the portfolios onto the desk and then heading back to the bullpen. I glance over my shoulder and watch as he stoops over and grabs his satchel off the back of his swivel chair. Seriously, why does he wear that thing? Once he pulls the strap over his head and secures it, he jerks his head towards the elevator. I down my scotch and then head out of my office. He and I have been living at my condominium for three months. I have no problem sharing my place with him. In fact, if anything, I enjoy it. Of course, he's become such a clean freak lately, but I'm okay with it. I've always thought he looked kinda cute wearing an apron and a pair of rubber gloves. He jabs the down button. The elevator opens. I follow him into the car. The doors slide closed. As we move down to the lobby, I fish into my pocket and pull out my Blackberry. A myriad of memos from Jessica. As usual, I ignore them. If it were an emergency of some sort, she'd call me instead. She doesn't mind me being in a relationship with Mike. So long as it doesn't interfere with our jobs. I re-stash my cell phone into my breast pocket. I glance over at him and watch as he buries his nose into his iPhone. His lips part. He swallows, and then quickly looks up at me. "What?"

"Is everything alright?" He nods and then gives me a very unconvincing smile. Okay, then. The elevator stops, and the metallic doors slide open. I step out of the car. He follows on my heels. We move across the buffed marble floors and out the glass double-doors. An icy gust of wind washes over my face. He walks ahead of me and then leans against the metal pole near the curb. He files his phone into his pocket. "Ray will be here any minute," I tell him. "Great," he curtly responds.

"You've been acting strangely lately." Seriously, he jumps every time his phone beeps, he hasn't been sleeping much, and every time, I ask him one simple question, he deflects it. "I'm fine." I study his face for a moment. He seems really upset about something. I do what I usually do: pry. "Mike, what the hell is wrong with you?" He shakes his head. "I don't wanna talk about it." Since when does he get to tell me what he wants and doesn't wanna do? "Mike—"

"It's nothing." I'm getting really impatient with him. I will ask him again and if he dismisses me one more time, I swear to God, I will blow a gasket. "What is wrong with you?"

"I'm tired, goddamn it! Just leave me alone!" By now, I am beyond pissed. He doesn't wanna talk? Fine. I won't talk to him. The town car pulls up to the curb. Ray steps out and heads over to the back door. He pulls the door open. I climb into the car and slide over to the right seat. Mike follows suit and takes his place on the left side. Once he closes the door, Ray goes over to the driver's seat, slams the door shut, and pulls from the curb. From the corner of my eye, I see Mike digging into his pocket and pulling his iPhone out. He drags the arrow across the screen, punches in his passcode, and then taps on an icon that directs him to his inbox. As he studies the screen, his expression changes. He appears upset at whatever text message he just read. He locks his iPhone and re-stashes it into his pocket. "What is it?" I ask him. He says nothing. He just swallows spit and then lets his eyes wander to the window. I watch him. What is going on with him? One minute ago, he was just fine. The minute he pulls out his iPhone, he suddenly starts acting paranoid.

Half an hour has passed since that long and god-awfully silent ride home, and now I am sitting at my desk, slumped over a stack of papers, reviewing the transcript of the deposition as Mike takes a long, hot shower. He's been doing this for the past several weeks. He doesn't usually take long showers like this unless he's worried about something. What has he been worrying about for the past few weeks? From the nightstand across the room, his phone pings. Should I check his message? Maybe. I don't know his passcode, though. He hasn't told me. Frankly, I never cared. But now, I'm starting to get concerned. Is he cheating on me with someone else? Pfft. No. _Nobody_ cheats on Harvey Specter_. _I am more than enough for him. I dismiss the ridiculous thought. Of course he's not cheating on me. _Focus._ Stop worrying about your puppy and start focusing on the transcript. The sentences just look like a bunch of blurred lines. I can read, but I just can't concentrate. I just toss the thing back onto the desk and sit back in my chair. The door opens. I crane my neck and watch as Mike drops his towel and pulls on his boxers and pajama pants. He catches my eye and then lets out an exasperated sigh. "What do you want?"

"Why are you keeping secrets from me?"

"I told you! It's nothing."

"Are you cheating on me?" He shakes his head. "Of course not." He grabs his navy blue T-shirt off the dresser and pulls it over his head. He pulls the white duvet back and climbs into bed. He turns, switches the lamplight off, and lies down. I want to believe him, but he's just not helping me. As he lies quietly in that king-sized bed, I am sitting there, wondering if he even trusts me enough. Eventually, I decide that I need to get some sleep. I kick off my tailored slippers and climb into the bed. His phone beeps again. I watch as he switches the lamp back on and grabs his phone. He reads the message. He swallows and glances out the window before returning his attention to the screen. "What is it?" I ask him. He sighs and sets his phone back down. "It's nothing," he answers, his voice trembling. Suddenly fed up with him, I emerge from the bed and switch my lamp on. "I've had it with your constant lying!"

"Seriously, its nothing—"

"STOP SAYING IT'S NOTHING! Something's going on with you and I demand to know what!"  
"For God's sakes, just forget about it!"

"That's not who I am!" He snatches the pillow and a blanket off the mattress. "You know what? I'm sleeping on the couch!" He storms out of the bedroom and slams the door behind him. You know what? Fine! He can sleep in the bottom of the pool for all I care.

I am awaken by a loud crash in the living room. I grab my pistol from beneath my pillow and jump out of bed. There is another loud thump, followed by Mike screaming. I sprint out of the spacious bedchambers, down the carpeted stairs, across the hardwood floor, into the dimly moonlit living room. I could make out the shapes of the grandiose, black leather sofa in front of me, the matching love-seat across from it, the two single sofas sitting on either corner of the room, the mahogany side tables, the porcelain lamps sitting on top of them, the mahogany coffee table, the four-paneled window to my right that is wide open. I circle around the room, aiming my gun at every corner. From behind the love-seat, I spot slight movement across the room. I reach behind me, searching for the light switch. Once I feel it beneath my fingertips, I flick the light on. It's Mike, staggering to his feet. His lip is split, he has a bruise on his right cheek, and there is a vertical cut above his left brow as thin as a strand of hair, stretched all the way to his hairline. I toss my gun to the side and run to him. I grab him by the arm. He flinches. "Are you hurt?" I ask him. "I'm fine," he grunts, swatting my hand away. Clutching his shoulder, he rounds the leather couch and lowers himself, cringing as he sprawls himself across the couch cushion. I grab the coral fleece blanket off the floor and pull it over his body. "Thank you," he mutters. I walk over to the window and close it. What is going on? First, the text messages, and now someone's attacking him? Is someone threatening him?


	2. The Puppet Master

I adjust my cufflinks as I head into the kitchen to make myself some coffee. Mike's already in the kitchen, wearing his $400 suit, nursing a cup of coffee in each hand. He hands me one. I take it from him and then take a sip of the lukewarm coffee. He sighs. "Look, I'm sorry about last night."

"Wanna tell me what's going on? And don't tell me its nothing this time." He shakes his head. "I can't tell you."

"What do you mean you can't tell me?"

"It's complicated." I try to refrain from shouting at him. "Mike, someone attacked you last night." I take a step closer to him, examining his face. "Is someone threatening you?" He says nothing. "Mike, I asked you a question." He opens his mouth to say something, but then closes it. "MIKE—"

"WHY DOES IT MATTER TO YOU?"

"BECAUSE I—" What's the point of even saying it? He should know. I slam the cup of coffee on the counter and march towards the front door (well, I never _march _per se, but I move in a brisk gait). He chases me. "Wait, please!" He grabs my wrist. I snatch my wrist away and then turn to face him. "Then tell me the truth!" He closes his eyes and takes a step back. He flicks his tongue over his lower lip and then looks at me. "Yes."

"Who?" He shakes his head. "I don't know."

"How long has this been going on?" I ask him, pushing my hands into my pocket.

"Three weeks." I stare at him for a moment. For the past three weeks, he was being threatened by someone and he never once told me about it? "Why the hell didn't you come to me?"

"I wanted to protect you."

"Give me your phone." Reluctantly, he reaches into his pants pocket, pulls his phone out, and hands it to me. I take it from him and swipe the arrow across the screen. "What's your passcode?"

"4-9-3-5." I punch in the code. Once I am directed to the home screen, I press the SMS icon on the top right corner of the screen. I am at his inbox. I scroll through it. He's received exactly 225 text messages from this anonymous person. I open one of the messages. It reads:

_I know your secret, Mike. Eventually, the police will find out, too. _

Someone knew his secret? But who? Trevor? Jenny? Jessica? Who was threatening him? I look up at him. "Besides Trevor, Jessica, Jenny, Donna, Lola, and I, who else knows?"

"My grandmother knew, but she's dead." It has to be one of these six people that's been blackmailing him. But who? It can't be Donna because what does she have against him? It can't be Jessica because if it were her, she wouldn't be a coward about it. Jenny is too much of a sweetheart, or at least I think she is. Lola has nothing against us. Not anymore, anyway. The only option would be Trevor. They have a lot of bad blood between them. "Could it be Trevor perhaps?"

"I thought it was, but then Trevor was murdered a couple of days ago." Trevor's dead? "If this person says they're going to turn you into the police, why didn't they?"  
"They called me later that night and said they wouldn't. Not yet."

"_Called _you?"

"They electronically disguised their voices." I resist the urge to snort and roll my eyes. "Really? This person's a coward!"

"_Coward? _This person _killed _someone. He also attacked me last night."

"How do you know it's a he?"

"He had really rough, strong hands."

"How'd he attack you?"

"I got really hot, and so I decided to crack the window open."

"You _opened _the window, Mike? You are being threatened by a _psychopath! _Besides, we live in New York, goddammit!" He licks his lips and shakes his head. "I know."

"Continue."

"Anyway, I started getting thirsty so I went into the kitchen to get some water when all of a sudden, someone grabbed me from behind—"

"Show me exactly what he did." He gives me a quizzical look. "Why?"

"I need to get a good idea of what kind of guy we're dealing with."

"We?"

"Show me!" He's hesitant for a moment. "Alright. Turn around." I do as I'm told. He grabs me by the collar of my shirt and flings me into the counter. The edge of the counter jabs me in the gut. I roll over the countertop and land on my back. I try to sit up, but then he brings the top of his foot across my face. I lift my hand to the corner of my lip and wipe the blood away. He stoops over and grabs my hand. I stagger to my feet. He heaves my arm over his shoulder and drags me into the living room. Pain shoots through my leg as I limp towards the couch. I nearly trip over my own feet (which has never happened to me before. Damn you, Mike). He pulls my body closer to his. "I'm sorry," he mutters as he cautiously lays me down on the couch. Once I am sprawled across the Haitian leather couch, he pulls a blanket over me and then heads out into the kitchen. As I am laying on the couch, I hear the refrigerator door open, followed by the sound of the wrinkling of plastic and the movement of crushed ice. "Here," he appears at my side, holding out an icepack. "Thanks." Pain radiates through my arm as I reach out and grab it from his hand. I press the icepack against the corner of my bruised mouth.

"I'm sorry," he repeats. I shake my head. "It's fine, Mike." He presses his lips into a thin line and thinks for a minute. "Do you still feel like going to work?"

"No. We had a meeting today, but we kinda missed it, so…." Mike nods. "Besides, I cannot go to work with these on my face." He gestures towards his bruised face. I chuckle. "So, if we're missing work today, what are we going to do?"  
"Maybe we should just rest up. We didn't sleep much last night, what with the attack and everything."

"I should call Jessica. Tell her that you're sick and that I have to stay home to take care of you." My phone buzzes against my thigh. Despite the massive amount of pain I am in (like an aching arm is gonna stop _me_), I reach into my pocket and grab the Blackberry. It's an e-mail from Donna.

_I already took care of that for you. _

I stash the phone into my pocket and lay my head back down. "Do you want me to make you some tea?" I shake my head. "No, thanks."

"I'm gonna get out of this suit." He heads back out of the living room. I sit up, ignoring the pain that shoots through my body as I do so, and grab the remote off the coffee table. The plasma TV takes five seconds to turn on. Jersey Shore is on. I don't watch that crap. I flip through the channels. Pretty Little Liars, Keeping Up with the Kardashians, some hip-hop music video with some random girl twerking, and then finally, the basketball game. LeBron James just made a three-pointer. The crowd goes wild. Mike re-enters the room, this time wearing a white V-neck, a pair of well-fitted jeans, a fleece jacket, and worn sneakers. "Where are you headed?"

"I'm going to the store to get some milk. We're out."

"While this person is still lurking out there?"

"The grocery store is only a block from the flat." I think for a moment. Should I let him go out alone? I can't. Not after what happened to him last night. What if he gets attacked again? Or worse: what if he gets killed? "I'm coming with you."  
"No, you're injured!"

"Mike, I can't let you go out on you own while this psycho is still lurking around the city?" Mike sighs. "I'll be back in five minutes." Before I can protest, Mike is out of the apartment. I grumble a few swear words to myself as I force myself to stand. I smooth out the wrinkles of my Tom Ford suit as I limp towards the front door. I pull it open and head out of the apartment. I close the door and lock it behind me.

I cringe as Mike sits me down on this plastic chair outside of the café. "Seriously? I told you to stay home!" I shoot him a death glare. "You don't give me orders, understand me?" He rolls his eyes. "You listen to me, alright? You're gonna whistle for a cab, go straight home, and lay down. Do you understand me? This is very…stupid!"

"What's stupid is the fact that you left the flat after I told you _not _to!" He shakes his head at me. "You are just…stubborn as hell!"

"I don't want to see you get attacked again!" He pulls a chair next to me. "Look, I appreciate the fact that you care about me, but I need you to take care of yourself."

"Mike, I'm in my early forties, not my late sixties." He reaches out and takes my hand into his own. "I still care about you." I snatch my hand away from him and rake it through my gel-caked hair. He sighs. "What's wrong?"

"Why did you have to scare me like that?"

"I'm sorry, okay?" He places his hand on my shoulder. "Look, call a cab, and we can go home."

"No. I wanna go get that milk first."

He carries the plastic bag into the kitchen and then places it on the marble countertop. I strip out of my jacket, vest, and tie and then open the closet. As he removes the milk carton from the plastic bag, I grab a hanger and place my jacket on it. I hear the refrigerator door slam. I drape my vest and tie over the back of the wooden chair at the entrance. He sits on the couch and leans against the back. I watch as he grabs the remote off the couch and switches the plasma on. He puts his foot on the table and watches the basketball game. I take a seat next to him and sit back. He switches the channel. "I was watching that, Mike."

"Yeah, well, it's the fourth quarter and the Celtics haven't scored once. I don't feel like watching them lose." Now, we're watching Jersey Shore. Seriously? "Change the channel." He changes the channel again. Some overly tanned girl is humping this really fat old guy. He switches again. Suddenly, we hear some glass shattering upstairs. "What the hell is that?" He switches the tele off. I rise from my seat and jog up the stairs. Mike follows suit.

By the time we get to our bedroom, I notice my lamp has been knocked over, as well as a couple of photos. Shards of glass are scattered about the carpet floor. "Look." I turn. In bold red ink, written on the wall behind the headboard, it reads: _Now I have two douchebags to destroy. Why do you do this to yourself, Mike? _

"That's it! I'm calling the police!" I start towards the phone, but then Mike grabs my hand. "Don't!" I snatch my hand away. "Mike, if we don't call the police, this person will continue to harass you!"

"And if we do, this person will tell everyone my secret!"

"So you're just gonna let this person intimidate you?"

"He's—"

"This person just broke into our apartment and vandalized our property. Not only that, Michael. This psychopath killed your ex-best friend in cold blood, and not to mention, he broke into our house twice!"

"This person knows I'm a fraud! If you involve the police in this, I could be exposed!"

"Mike—"

"Please!" I start pacing around the room. "So what are we going to do?"

"I don't know." I punch the wall and then rest my forehead against it. "Calm down! We will figure something out!" I storm towards him (well, I don't storm, but you know what I mean). "How? If we can't tell the police, then what are we going to do?"

"I should've never told you in the first place!" Regret boils behind his electric blue eyes. He drops onto the mattress and pinches the bridge of his nose. "If I hadn't dragged you into this, none of it would've happened in the first place." I sigh. "Mike, its not your fault!" He jerks his head up, dropping his hand to his lap. "It _is _my fault! Your life is in danger because of me!"

"Mike, stop it!"

"If you die, I don't know how I would live with myself." He buries his face in his hands. By this point, I feel very disgusted with myself. He never would've told me if I hadn't coerced him into telling me in the first place. I did this to him. "It was my fault, Mike. I shouldn't have pressured you." He shakes his head. "No. Don't blame yourself."

"Mike—"

"I got myself into this. I destroyed everything. Someone lost his life because of me." He shakes his head. "It's like the people around me just keep suffering and I—"

"That's enough, dammit!" He looks up at me. "I'm sorry. I can't do this anymore." He gets up and starts out the door, but suddenly freezes in his tracks. "What is it?" I ask him. He wordlessly points at the wall across from him. I move towards him and notice an unfamiliar picture hanging on the wall. It looks like a sketched photo of Mike sitting in a chair in the left corner of a dark room. Next to him is a silhouette of a woman. Her hair flows behind her. She has a perfect hourglass figure, and it looks like she's wearing stilettos. Her right hand is raised towards the sky while the other is stretched towards Mike. Beneath her left hand, there is a shadow of a man with his arms and legs dangling. He is suspended by four strings shooting from her hand. Also, it appears as though she is looking directly at Mike, but I couldn't see her eyes. How did we not notice that? We walked passed it, we faced that direction a couple of times…

"It's a woman. I'm being blackmailed by a woman." Jessica? Lola? Jenny? _Donna? _No. It cannot be Donna. I trust her. Why would she do this? I thought she was on our side. No! It cannot be her. It just can't. I take another deep breath. "Do you have any idea who she could be?" He's silent for a moment. "No."

"Could it be possible that someone else found out?"

"No!" He spins around. "How could someone possibly find out?"

"Trevor found out from Jessica," I tell him. "Oh, shit!" he hisses.  
"Look, Mike, someone is trying to kill you, ergo we need to contact the police right away!"

"Someone is watching us! If we go to the police, they'd know about it and someone else could get hurt!"

"Maybe we should go to Donna. She'd know what to do."

"Then we can wear matching suits to her funeral! Great!"

"Well, what are we going to do if we can't tell anyone?" Mike takes a deep breath. "I don't know."

"Wait a minute. If a woman is blackmailing you, then why did a man attack you last night?" Mike shrugs. "Maybe she's behind it and she hired people." I think about it for a moment. Maybe it _is _Jessica. She was, after all, pretty pissed when she found out Mike was a fraud. That cold-hearted bitch! Why the hell would she do this to me? To _him? _After all these years, I thought I could trust her. I guess I was wrong. That _evil _bitch! She deserves to burn in hell. "Jessica," I growl. "That fucking she-devil!" Mike faces me. "You really think its her?"

"I hired you, I'm sleeping with you…." Mike sighs and shakes his head. "It cannot be her, though. I did not think she'd do _this."_

"She's blackmailed you before." He thinks about it for a moment. "I guess that's true, but how do you know she's doing it this time?"

"Trust me. I know." I turn and stride towards the window. "I will find that bitch tomorrow and destroy her if it is the last thing I do."


	3. A Death in the Pearson Specter

I walk through the glass door and into her office. She greets me with a big, bright smile on her face. "Good morning. What a phony bitch! "Yeah, hi." I bite back the venom in my voice. "You called?"

"Yes, I called you in here because I need you to tell Crenshaw we're dropping him."

"Absolutely," I say curtly. She gives me a quizzical look. "Is everything alright with you?"

"Right as rain." I feign a smile. Something akin to bemusement swims in dark, brown eyes. "Okay, then. That is all." I head out of the office. I don't know how much longer I can stay in the same room as her. "Oh, one more thing!" I freeze in my tracks and turn over my shoulder. "Don't screw this up. You know how badly it went last time." I nod once before continuing out the door. I will kidnap and torture her so badly that she will regret the day she was born. How dare she harm Mike? Don't worry. I _will _destroy her if it is the last thing I do! All I can do right now is imagine all the horrible things I'd do to her. Peel her skin while she is wide-awake. Hold her in a small, windowless room and allow heavyset men to brutally rape and assault her. Cut her fingers off one by one and force her to watch. Maybe I could perform a lobotomy on her while she's still conscious. I walk pass my redheaded assistant, who is giving me a disapproving look. "Are you seriously having graphic and sadistic thoughts about her right now?"

"Donna, leave me alone." She follows me into my office. "I know what she did, but you can't be doing this." I take a seat behind my desk and open the file on my desk. "Call Mike in here. Tell him I need him." Donna sighs and shakes her head at me. "Are you even listening to me?" I shoot out of my seat. "Donna, I gave you an order! If you don't do what you're supposed to do, I swear to God I will fire you and then burn you _alive_!" Donna gapes at me. "Oh my God." I realize what I've said. "Donna, I didn't—"

"I know." She turns and heads back to her cubicle. What is happening to me? Why did I just threaten to burn my secretary alive? What did she do to deserve this? Mike walks in through the glass door and takes a seat across from me. "What do you need me to do?"

"I need you to come to lunch with me. We're going to tell Crenshaw that we're dropping him as a client."

"I thought you said we're not doing anything for Jessica anymore."

"I changed my mind. If I start slacking off for some reason, she's gonna know that we're on to her. We have to make sure she still thinks we don't know." Mike nods in agreement. "You're right."

"Of course I'm right. I'm always right."

"How are we going to take care of the Jessica situation?"

"We're gonna kill her." He shoots out of his seat, a stunned look on his face. "Kill Jessica Pearson? The managing partner of this firm? Harvey, are you insane?" I rise from my seat. "Mike—"

"This is insane! I draw the line right there! Murder is wrong!"  
"Mike, she betrayed us! It's about time she pays for everything she's done to _you_! To _us!_"

"Harvey, just think about what you're saying!"

"I don't need to think anymore. I'm done thinking! We're going to plot her murder and we're going to execute it perfectly!"

"Harvey, please. If you go through with this, you can never go back. Trust me. I know." He moves towards me and places a hand on my shoulder. "We're going to carry on as though everything is normal, and we're not going to _kill _anyone. We'll figure out another solution to this whole Jessica situation. Okay?" He rubs my shoulder a little and then turns to leave the room. I sigh and fall back into my chair. My eyes slip closed. He's right. What the hell was I thinking? Torture and _murde_r? That's not me. Donna rises from her seat and marches into the room. "I cannot believe that such a thought even _crossed _your mind."

"I know. I just let the anger consume me." I watch Mike through the glass door as he stands in front of the bullpen, socializing with Rachel. "What am I going to do with Jessica?"

"Put Jessica in prison. We need to gather some evidence first." I take the thought into consideration. Donna is right. But what kind of evidence do we have against her? Mike looks over at me. Rachel follows his line of sight. She looks back at him and takes one step closer to him. She asks him some kind of question. He shrugs, his gaze still fixated on me. What could he be telling her? Is it about Jessica blackmailing us? My idea of murdering her? Rachel gets this worried look on her face. She brushes past him and heads back to her office. His eyes are locked on mine. We remain like this for a moment. After for what seems like an eternity, he turns and heads back to his cubicle. "Did he tell her what I think he told her?"  
"No. They're talking about the Crenshaw case." I look up at the redhead. She turns and heads back to her desk. I look back at Mike, who's just sitting behind his computer, typing away. My eyes dart to Rachel. She's just heading back to her office. She pulls her phone out and stares at the screen.

I pour myself another glass of scotch and sip it. One of my father's records murmur in the background. I move to the window and gaze out into the skyline. Grazing my fingers over the block diamond band, I try to remember the last time things were normal. Back when I could actually trust Jessica. Back when I could actually handle Mike going out by himself. I know I should not dwell on the past because its not gonna do me any good. All I can do right now is move forward. I take a sip of my drink. I could hear the click of heels echoing throughout the hallways as people start heading towards the elevators. I see Jessica's reflection in the window as she enters my office. "Is it a bad time to be here right now?" Just the sound of her voice makes me sick to my stomach. "No. Come in." She takes a seat on the couch. "You've been avoiding me all day!"

"I've been busy all day." I take a seat next to her. "If you were against dropping Crenshaw, you should've came to me." She thinks this is about Crenshaw? She is such a liar! "I was a little dubious about it because the last time we dropped a client, the whole thing went to shit. Remember?" She nods. "Yeah. He dug some dirt on us and sent Robert Zane after us."

"Yeah." She grabs a diamond glass off the silver tray on the table next to her and helps herself to some scotch. This bitch has the nerve to touch my scotch without asking me first! "Sure. Help yourself." She pulls the glass to her lips and takes a sip. "What happened last time will not happen this time. You need to trust me on this." _You need to trust me on this. _Bitch, how the hell do you expect me to trust you after everything you did to Mike? To _me? _ "I _do _trust you, Jess. It's just that…" I shake my head. "With everything that's been happening lately, its like things go wrong both ways. You make one decision, everything goes to shit. You make another, everything goes to shit."

"Well, when you're running a law firm, you have to make all the hard decisions. Crenshaw is one of our most loyal clients, but he's also one of the most irrational ones."

"You're right, Jess." She looks at me, a little shocked. "Did you just say that I was _right?"_

"Yeah. Don't get used to it." I take another sip of my scotch. She chuckles and lightly shoves me. I feign a smile and a laugh. "Which song is this?" she asks me. "_You're a Cold-Hearted Bitch _by Gordon Specter. He wrote this about my mother after he found out about her affair." _It's also about you, bitch, _I want to add. I look at Donna's reflection on the window. She's at her cubicle, pretending to read a cheesy romance novel. "Well, I gotta run. There's a live jazz show downtown and I don't wanna miss it." She stands, smooths out her Giambattista Valli silk knot dress, and heads out of the office. I glance back up at Donna's reflection. The redhead slams her novel shut, shoots out of her seat, and walks back into the office. "Okay, I don't think I can work in the same firm as that psychopathic bitch!"

"We should kill her."

"Harvey, I said we're simply going to have her put in prison and I meant it."

"Can I at least torture her?"

"Harvey, you're better than that." I sigh. "You're right."

"Damn right I am! Oh, I think you need to take your boy-toy home. He looks a little tired." She struts out of the room and towards the elevators. Mike walks in. "Harvey, I did everything you asked." He drops a huge stack on my desk. "Let's go home."

We pulled up to the curb in front of the Pearson-Specter. Mike pushes the door open and slides out of the vehicle. I follow behind him. The titanium, seventy story building is being swarmed with police cars. Crime scene tape is surrounding the perimeter of the building. Detectives are going around, asking Pearson-Specter employees questions. A couple of people look frazzled. Other people are just distraught. "What's going on?" I start towards the crime scene, but then get stopped by a tall, slim, and handsome brunette in uniform. "Excuse me, this is a crime scene."

"What's going on?"

"We've just found Jessica Pearson's body." He walks away. My breath gets caught in my throat. _Jessica is dead? _My face begins to feel numb. Should I be glad? "Does this mean its over?" Mike asks me. "I don't know," I answer. Suddenly, our phones ping simultaneously. We pull our phones out. "I just got a text," he informs me. "I did, too," I tell him. We unlock our phones. "It's not over, assholes," we read aloud. We exchange glances. "Jessica didn't do it?"

"Holy shit! I turn my back for one second and Jessica Pearson is dead?" The sound of Donna's voice startles me. I abruptly turn around. "Donna!" A tear rolls down her left cheek. Her lower lip trembles. She looks up at me. "She didn't do it, did she?" her voice breaks. My eyes become misty. I wrongfully accused her of a crime she'd never even committed to begin with. Why? I actually wanted her _dead. _I feel Mike placing his hand on my shoulder. "I'm sorry." I place my hand on top of his and graze my thumb across the back of his hand. "I'm fine, Mike." He removes his hand from my shoulder and retreats. Donna moves closer to me and wraps her arms around my neck. I hug her back. We remain like this for a moment. She pulls away and then goes over to comfort Mike. How did this begin? How did it go from Mike getting text messages to Jessica Pearson, my boss and mentor, being murdered in cold blood?


	4. A Secret Almost Revealed

The only sound in the bedroom is the sound of Mike's soft breathing. From the corner of my eye, I could see his chest rising. His eyes are closed, but I can't tell if he's really sleeping or not. My hand trembles as I reach to touch his arm. "Mike," I whisper. "Are you asleep?" He says nothing. He just shifts his weight to his right side and looks at me with blue, tired eyes. His lips part as though he is about to say something, but then he closes his mouth. I examine his face. "You were pretending to sleep, weren't you?"

"You're gonna start asking me questions, aren't you?" He looks so vulnerable. So innocent. So… beautiful. He looks down at the mattress, and then up at me. "How long will the firm be shut down?"

"Until the whole Jessica Pearson situation clears up. Also, we need to vote for the new managing partner of Pearson-Specter."

"I think you should be the next managing partner." I give him a tight smile. He's so sweet. So innocent. Why would someone want to take that away from him? "Do you have faith in me?" he asks me. Of course I do. "Yeah," I tell him. He sadly smiles before rolling to his other side. I shift to my back and close my eyes.

There is a loud clap of thunder, followed by the sound of pouring rain. I sit up in bed and look to my left. Mike's fast asleep. From my peripheral vision, I see movement in the far right corner of the bedroom. I turn my head. There is a figure slumped against the wall. Is someone watching me? The figure slinks to the door, pulls it open, and walks out of the room. I pull my gun from beneath my pillow and follow the silhouette out of the bedroom. I could hear the floorboards creak as the creeper moves into the kitchen. Aiming my gun in front of me, I saunter to the stairwell, tiptoe down the stairs, and then creep into the kitchen. The intruder, wearing a long black jacket, stands in front of the oven with his back to me. I move closer to him, my line of sight aimed at the back of his head. He doesn't move. I am only inches from him. The hooded person doesn't flinch once. I grab him by the shoulder and jerk him around. "Donna?" She lifts her hands to the hood and pulls it down. Her smoke brown eyes are soft and filled with fear. "I need to talk to you."

"How'd you get in my room?"

"The person that has been blackmailing you is—" Suddenly, a bullet flies through the windowpane and strikes her in the temple. Blood spews all over the wall. She falls onto the tiled floor. "Donna!" I drop he gun down, kneel beside her, turn her body so that her torso is facing me, and try to shake her awake. Crimson stains the side of her face. Teardrops begin crawling from my eyes. I sit back on my heels, watching as her body becomes drained of blood. "Harvey! What happened?" Mike comes up behind me. "Oh my God," he whispers. I can hear him breaking into sobs. He drops down next to me and buries his face in his hands. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!"

The medical examiners lift Donna's body and stash it into the body bag. A couple of photographers, with their Canons, snap some shots of the corpse as the medical examiners load her onto the gurney and roll her to the ambulance. Mike is off to the side, answering the detective's questions. He starts bawling his eyes out. The petite blonde begins jotting some notes onto her pad while the tall brunette tries to calm him down. He starts screaming something unintelligible at her. I run towards him. "Mike!" I come up behind him. He whirls around and throws his arms around my neck. He buries his face into my shoulder and sobs. I wrap my arms around him and rub his back soothingly. Poor Donna. Poor Mike. Who would do such a thing? First Trevor, then Jessica, and now Donna? Who next? Rachel? Jenny? Louis? "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I didn't mean for this to happen!" he screams. "I know," I whisper into his ear. "I know."


	5. Lying to the Cops

I scroll through the headlines on the screen.

**Both Pearson-Specter Managing Partner and Legal Secretary found dead. **

**Two Women From the Same Firm Found Dead**

**Geoffrey Crenshaw in Custody **

Geoffrey in custody? Seriously? I slam the laptop shut. I will find the bitch that murdered my secretary and kill her. I turn and look at Mike, who is just lying there, staring blankly at the wall. Oh my God. He's broken. Traumatized. In pain. He's not even breathing. It's like all of the oxygen has left his body. He doesn't move. He doesn't even make a sound. He just lies there, frozen. "Mike?" He blinks in response. I stand and walk towards him. "I'm sorry, babe." He's looking right through me. I take a seat at the empty space next to him and touch his shoulder. He winces and looks up at me. "Do you hate me?" he croaks. _Hate _him? How could I hate him? "No, I don't hate you." I squeeze his shoulder and then rub it. "I could never hate you." He sadly smiles. "Are you hungry? Do you want me to make you something to eat?"

I shake my head. "No thanks, Mike."

"Okay." He sits up and rubs his eyes. "When is the last time we slept?"

"Last night?"

"I mean, when's the last time we _really _slept?"

"I don't know about you, but the last time I actually slept was the night before I found out someone was threatening you." He drops his head and sighs. "Yeah, sorry. I don't remember the last time I've eaten."

"You have an eidetic memory." He glares at me. "You know what I mean." He rakes his fingers through his hair and sighs. "Mike, everything will be fine." He emerges to his feet. "Fine? Trevor, Jessica, and Donna were _murdered _because of me! Do not tell me that everything is gonna be fine! How many more lives will be lost before this whole thing finally blows over—"

"Mike—"

"You know what? I don't even wanna talk to you right now! Just get out!" I stare at him for a while. He plops back down on the bed, petulantly crosses his arms and turns his back to me. Reluctantly, I rise to my feet and walk out of the bedroom. I pull the door closed behind me. A part of me wants to burst into the bedroom and shout at him. Punch him in the face, tell him to stop being such a bitch, and suck it up. But that would be foolish and insensitive of me. He's been through so much. He's been blackmailed, he's watched the people he loved and cared about the most die a cruel and wicked death. I continue down the stairs and into the kitchen. I cannot stand in this kitchen for more than five seconds. I cannot stand in the same room my secretary was gunned down in front of me. There is knocking on the door. Relieved, I head towards the front door. When I answer the door, I see two brawny men in cheap suits standing at the doorway. "Good evening, Mr. Specter, I am Detective Walters and this is my partner, Detective Coulson." The blonde detective respectfully bows his head.

"We have a few questions to ask you. May we come in?" I step aside to make room for the two detectives. They walk into the room, scoping out the place, looking at a few family photos lined up on the mantle, my massive fireplace, the grandiose four-paneled window, my black leather couch. "Do you mind if we take a seat?"

"Oh, sure. Detective Coulson takes a seat across the room while Detective Walters takes a seat on the single seat next to him, slightly angled towards the far left corner of the room. I take a seat on the sofa across from Walters. Coulson takes out his notepad and a pen. "We need to ask you questions about Donna Paulsen's murder."

"Absolutely."

"Why was she at your apartment the night she was murdered?" What should I tell them? She was going to tell me who was blackmailing Mike? She was warning me about something? If I told the police what happened, either Mike or I would be dead. "She came over here to tell me that she was in trouble. Someone was after her."

"Do you know who?"  
"No. She was murdered before she could even tell me who was out to get her."

"Do you know why this person was out to get her?"

"No." The two detectives exchanged glances. "Do you believe that Jessica Pearson's murder is connected to Ms. Paulsen's?"

"No," I lie. Detective Walters nods. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Specter." He extends his hand. I shake it. "Anytime." He gets up and heads out of the complex. Detective Coulson follows on his heels. Once he closes the door behind him, I close my eyes and let out a heavy sigh. I just lied to the cops. Now they're going to try and figure out who was after Donna, and then they're going to find that my story is a load of bullshit. My phone pings. Oh, shit. I fish it out of my pants pocket and open it up. It's a text.

_Smart move, sweetie._

I toss my phone onto the loveseat across from me and lean into the back of the sofa. I could hear the floorboards creak as Mike moves down the stairs. "Who were you just talking to?"

"Cops."

"What did they want?"

"To know why Donna was at our place."

"What'd you tell them?"

"I told them Donna was in trouble. Someone was after her, and before she could tell us who or why, they killed her." He gapes at me. "What the fuck is wrong with you? You know they're gonna start asking questions all over town, and then eventually, they're gonna find out. Next thing you know, one of us will wind up in a body bag! Either that or this person is going to expose me!"

"What was I supposed to tell them?" He pinches the bridge of his nose and huffs. "You're an idiot!" I rise from my seat. "Excuse me?"

"Why would you do something like this? You might as well tattoo 'Mike Ross is a fraud' across your forehead!"

"I don't like your attitude, Mike!"

"My attitude? Who the hell do you think you are? My father?"

"All I've been trying to do for the past several days is protect you and all you ever do is complain at me!" He takes a step closer to me, gritting his teeth. His lips twitch. "Don't you _ever _talk to me like that again!"

"What are you going to do, huh? Hit me?"

"I've done it before." I grab his throat and plow him into the wall across the room. "Let me explain something to you: you don't talk to _me_ like that, understand? I gave you this job, I protected your ass from getting exposed, I let you move in with me—"

"Bullshit! You _begged _me to move in with you!" he chokes out. I tighten my grip around his throat. He starts kicking at me, grabbing at my hand, trying to pry my fingers from his neck, struggling to breathe. "Stop! Please…I'm. Begging you!" I release him. He drops to his hands and knees and starts coughing. I kneel down next to him and reach to touch him, but he slaps my hand away. "Don't touch me!" he coughs. He staggers to his feet and goes over to the couch.


	6. Donna's Apartment

I break off 1/3 of the bobby pin that I stole from Donna's cubicle and insert it into the top part of the keyhole. The rest of the bobby pin acts as a tension wrench. After jiggling the pick around for a reasonable amount of seconds, I hear a click. I push the door open and walk into Donna's apartment. I shut the door behind me. The scent of lavender lingers in the air. I reach behind me and switch the lights on. This place hasn't changed a bit (The last time I've been here was about ten years ago). The floorboard creaks as I move across the room, taking in the freshly plastered walls, the buffed cherrywood floor, the oriental rug that sits in the midst of the room with a cherrywood coffee table resting atop it, and a crystal chandelier hanging above it. I move over to the bookshelf leaning against the wall on the other side of the room. The shelves are stocked with classics like Romeo and Juliet, The Merchant in Venice, Macbeth, The Death of a Salesman, The Glass Menagerie, and all other kinds of stuff. Seriously? Why does she have this shit? I roll my eyes and continue searching through the myriad of manuscripts on her shelf until I find the Holy Bible right at the end. Donna is an atheist. Why would she have the Holy Bible in her apartment? I pull it out and crack it open. Of course. It's hollowed out. Inside of it rests a small wooden box. I pull it out, slam the bible shut, and toss it on the couch. I unlatch the box and crack it open only to find a wad of tissues. Really? Tissues? I thought she'd be a little more discrete. I yank the wad of tissues out of the box and discover a black USB drive. I pull it out and examine it. What's in here? Videos? Audio files? Documents?

As soon as I get to her bedroom, I close the door behind me and lock it. Against the periwinkle wall across from me rests a glass desk with a MacBook Pro sitting atop it. I stride over to the desk and boot the computer up. Her desktop is a photo of me and Mike. Mike is completely shirtless, leaning his head on my shoulder and smiling into the camera. I'm wearing a black v-neck, my arm is lazily draped around his shoulder, and I'm sticking my tongue out and crossing my eyes. Over a year ago, Mike and Donna came over to my apartment, and this was taken several hours after we got stoned and drunk off our asses. Donna took this photo wearing a bikini top, really short shorts, cowgirl boots, and a party hat. Mike was wearing nothing but a pair of swimming trunks, and I was wearing a t-shirt and a pair of jeans (Donna and Mike were hanging out in my jacuzzi prior to this. I have no idea why Donna put on cowgirl boots, nor do I know where they came from). I smile fondly at the memory before pushing it aside and inserting the drive into the USB port. A window pops open. I only see a video file. I double-click on it. The image of Mike and Trevor standing near the kitchen sink in front of a four-paneled window appears on the screen. What the hell? I look at the date on the left bottom corner. This video was shot on May 17, 2013 at exactly midnight. May 17th. I remember that day clearly. That was the day he and I had the fight. About a month ago, the night prior to our fight, I escorted Donna to the Victoria's Secret fashion show. We even attended the after party on the yacht. I flirted with some of the supermodels, but I never actually did anything with them because I was already in a relationship with Mike. Anyways, it was a Sunday afternoon and I was lying on the couch, doing some work for the next day when suddenly, my phone rang. I answered it. It was one of the models that I flirted with. What was her name again? Stephanie? Sophie? Mike caught me talking to her the moment I was going to tell her I was in a relationship. He snatched the phone from my hand and threatened to snatch that fake hair off that pretty head of hers if she ever called again. After that, we went into a screaming match. He ran up the stairs, hastily packed his bags, and told me he was going to stay over at a hotel. If he was staying at a hotel that night, what was he doing in Trevor's apartment? I press the space bar. Mike leans against the counter and laughs at some joke Trevor told him. "But, uh, seriously, Trev. Thank you for letting me spend the night here."

"Hey, it was no problem, man." Mike bites down on his lower lip and lifts his head. "To be honest, two weeks ago, I wanted to rip your head off. And now, I..." His voice breaks a little. "I just want you back. Harvey won't let me hang out with you anymore. Says you're an anchor. But you're not. You're like an older brother to me. You've always been, and...if I could go back in time and change everything, I would." My stomach churns. How could he lie to me about this? _I want you back? Harvey won't let me? _ Why is he hiding this from me? Who does he think he is? Trevor places his hand on Mike's shoulder and then pulls him for a hug. Mike embraces him. "I love you, too, buddy. And if Harvey ever hurts you again, Mike, I swear to God I'm gonna beat the shit out of him." Mike nods. _Hurt him? _How did I hurt him? He rushed out of the apartment before I even had a chance to explain! Now, he has some explaining to do. And if I find out he's been cheating on me, I swear to God I'm gonna raise hell!


	7. May 17th

I storm over to the kitchen counter where Mike is sitting, hunched over a book, and slam the drive onto the countertop. Mike jerks his head up and then down at the drive. "What's this?" I cock my brow. "Proof that you lied to me!" He gives me this befuddled look. "What are you talking about?"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about! May 17th, 2013! You told me you were staying at a hotel! You were at Trevor's place!"

"How the fuck did you find out?"

"Dammit, Mike, that doesn't matter right now! What were you doing at Trevor's place?" Mike straightens himself and then gives me a sweet, loving smile. "Baby, do we really need to discuss this?" He steps closer to me, grabs me by the collar of my shirt, and pulls me closer. What the hell? Is he serious? He leisurely works his finger all the way to the back of my neck and then leans so closely to me that there is only a sliver of air separating us. "I mean, after all we've been through, we shouldn't be fighting like this." He kisses the tip of my nose. "Why don't I go upstairs, get out of these clothes, get you out of yours, and you and I could just forget this entire thing ever happened, hmm?" He nips at my lower lip and then starts fiddling with the two top buttons of my shirt. Is he serious? I push him away from me. "Really, Mike?" He sighs. "What do you want from me?"

"The truth, Mike!" He drops his head, takes a few steps back, and starts to walk away. He stops and turns. "You want the truth? The truth is that I contacted Sofia and paid her to call you so I could have an excuse to go over to Trevor's place." What? He started the fight on purpose in order to see Trevor? "Why? Were you sleeping with him?"

"What? No! I would never do that to you! I went over to his place to investigate! I thought he was the one who's been blackmailing me so I figured if I got close enough to him, I could stop it."

"How?" He sighs and shakes his head. "I honestly did not think it through."

"Mike, I hate it when you lie to me." He looks up at me. "I'm sorry." I take him by the shoulders and look him square in the eye. "I'm sorry, too. I should not have accused you."

"You had every right to. I lied to you and went behind your back, and I—"

"Hey. You were doing what you thought you needed to do."

"Thank you for not leaving me."

"I don't know what I'd do without you, kid." He retreats. "I'm gonna go take a shower."


	8. The Devil's in the House

Mike is on the bed, fast asleep. I am sitting in front of the computer with my lamp light on and my earphones plugged into my ear, watching the footage all over again. "If Harvey ever hurts you again, Mike, I swear to God I'm gonna bit the shit out of him." Mike nods and hugs the other guy tighter. After several seconds of their lovey-dovey bromance moment ((UGH!), they repel from one another. Mike starts to head out when Trevor grabs his wrist. "Hey, I was wondering if you wanted to go out to get something to eat with me," Trevor offers. Mike nods again. "Yeah. Let me put my clothes on and take a shower first." He gives Trevor a tight smile and then heads out of the kitchen. Trevor follows him out. As the video continues to play, I begin to wonder if there are cameras in every room of the house. Perhaps Mike was the one who installed that camera. Was it him? Where would he find the time to install those cameras while he's manipulating Trevor? Perhaps he's installed the cameras earlier? He's broken into houses before in his adolescence. I've seen him pick a lock before. About a year ago, we were pulling a prank on Louis. Mike had the ingenious idea of breaking into Louis's house, stripping down naked, and pretending to have sex in his bed. We never actually got through with it because Mike tripped over his pants and fell face first into cat litter. Nest thing we knew, Louis came out of nowhere, snapped a shot of Mike in kitty litter with his pants at his ankles, and put it all over the internet the next day (Damn Louis). I could hear Mike stirring in his sleep. "Babe?" he murmurs. I turn and see him propped up on his elbow, looking up at me with tired blue eyes. "What are you doing out of bed? C'mere." I return my attention to the screen. "I'm just working on stuff." Suddenly, I notice the cabinet doors open. A girl wearing long red trench coat, dark jeans, and knee-high stilettos crawls out of the cabinet. She appears to be about five-foot-seven. I cannot make out her features because her hood is pulled over her head, and her head is slightly dipped. However, I could see her blonde locks sticking out of her hoodie. Jenny? She pulls the drawers open and starts searching through Trevor's kitchen drawers. What is she looking for? After a while, she slams a drawer close, sighs, and then lifts her hands to her hoodie. As she begins to pull her hood back, the screen goes blank. What? Really? REALLY? I groan and slam the laptop shut. "SHIT!"

"What's wrong?" I sigh and shut the lamplight off. "Nothing, Mike." I pull my robe off and climb into bed next to him. He rolls over and drapes his arm around my waist. Was that Jenny I saw? And if it was, why would she be blackmailing Mike? I thought she got over him cheating on her with Rachel. Why is she suddenly blackmailing him now? Was she planning this for the past four years?


End file.
